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fairyysoup · 4 months ago

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the devil i know

chapter three: i smoke out your darkest side

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Your favorite accidental demon boy toy maims your piece of shit manager, learns a bit about your past, and visits you in a dream.

cw: explicit, witch!reader, reader is 21+, eddie is immortal, deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, wet dreams, lucid dreaming, handjobs, skin on skin grinding, teasing, horror, very intense bodily harm done to a minor character (tongues are lost), blood, gore, bullying/harassment, mention of past abusive ex, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

EASTWICK, YOUR JUNIOR YEAR

The book you found at the garage sale a town over has to be fake. Right? You’ve spent weeks flipping through it, looking at the pages and reading the words over and over, trying to somehow carve them into your memory.

It seems so improbable, but the notion bounces around in your skull for so long that it grips hold somewhere in there, wiggling down into your belief system until you just can’t seem to get rid of it.

Magic is real. Witchcraft exists. It has existed, in different forms, throughout history. You’ve just never considered that you could practice it for yourself, until now.

Part of the reason that you decide to try it is that you want to see what’ll happen. You have an insatiable curiosity, and if it works out, you may have just discovered the cure to all that ails you, so to speak. But the other part of it is a quiet desperation for something more.

Being sixteen sucks. But being sixteen in a small, puritanical town that’s stuck in the past, when you’re considered too weird to eat in the cafeteria without getting wads of gum stuck into your hair by the assholes on the football team, is worse.

You have no support system, and no way out. Your family won’t even pretend to understand. So, you’re taking to naïve leaps of faith, instead.

The moon is bright enough to illuminate the clouds moving in the sky around it. The air is thick with late spring mugginess and oncoming rain, stifling your skin. The candles arranged in a circle around you don’t help with the heat. Beneath you on the dirt, you’ve used red painter’s pigment to sketch out a pentacle, for lack of a better understanding of how to “cast a circle.”

In your hand, the little cloth doll you’d amateurly sewn together stares back at you with two black button eyes. You’d been very careful when you clipped off a piece of Matt Anderson’s backpack strap to tie around its neck. The wad of ABC gum that he’d shoved into your hair is wrapped in it, and stuffed inside the doll’s body, making it lumpy– but it doesn’t have to look perfect.

It just has to work.

You pick up a cheap plastic cigarette lighter and flick it on. The flame glows yellow in the dark, illuminating the crude red smiley face you’d drawn onto the doll’s head.

Fucking Matt.

The polyester cloth sizzles when you hold the flame to it, barely singeing the edges. All your rage, all your pent up anger and aggression toward him and the impromptu haircut he caused, floods out of you. The smiley face warps. One of the little button eyes pops off. The stuffing inside is going to catch on in a second–

“Oh, my GOD. What are you doing?”

You drop the lighter with a yelp. Over your backyard fence, your neighbor, Jessica, stares at you with wide eyes.

Jessica is your age, your longtime neighbor and one-time friend, when you were very little. You grew apart in middle school, when she discovered cheerleading and you discovered teen angst. She doesn’t talk to you much anymore, unless it’s to give you a hollow, backhanded compliment.

“Jess– I didn’t– what are you doing?” You squint at her in the darkness. Her blonde hair is up in foam rollers, a baby blue bathrobe wrapped around her willowy shoulders.

“Well I saw fire out here when I was getting ready for bed and I wanted to see what was– I wanted to make sure you weren’t, like, in trouble.” She takes in the circle of candles around the red pentacle, the lighter, the mutilated doll in your hand. “Are you, like… a Devil worshipper?”

“What?” You stand up, still clutching the doll in your hand. “No, why would you ask that?”

“Well, I mean… Reverend Tanner was talking about ‘em in church the other day, and I just thought��” She looks you up and down. Her eyes linger on your oversized Black Sabbath t-shirt, your hands covered in red pigment and soot from the spell you were attempting. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna say anything. I promise.”

“Jess, I’m not a Devil wor–”

“It’s… it’s alright. It’ll be our secret.” Jessica gives you a wobbly, forced smile that you know means she’s lying.

Your eye twitches in annoyance. You probably should say something. Plead your case, make her understand that this isn’t Devil worship. Tell her that whatever the hell she listens to the preacher at the local parish say about ‘lunatic Satan worshippers consorting with the Devil’ doesn’t apply to you, and frankly, probably doesn’t exist the way she thinks it does.

Instead, you just sigh. You can’t foresee her being as big of a problem as Matt or any of his cronies. She isn’t vindictive as all that. “Sure, Jess. Our secret.”

“I, um. Sorry, I’m just gonna…” Jessica gestures over her shoulder, and then retreats back toward her house. Her fluffy pink slippers scuff the wood of her patio as she glances back at you cautiously, like she’s afraid you’ll chase after her.

You watch her disappear inside. Then, with a roll of your eyes, you irritatedly hold the lighter’s flame to the Matt doll, and let it catch fire in your hands. You toss it into an empty Folgers coffee canister and let it burn to shit before you blow out the candles and go back inside. The pentacle on the ground will be washed away with the rain by the morning.

Fuck it all.

As soon as Colin enters his house, Eddie appears on the horizon like a stoic angel bearing a message.

Actually, that’s a fucking lie. He makes the walls cry blood. Always wanted to do that, at least once.

Colin’s a little pipsqueak of a guy in his early thirties, with prematurely thinning hair and skinny legs that make his pants look way too big on him no matter what size he wears. Eddie finds it hard to take him seriously– especially when he’s cowering in a corner brandishing a wooden crucifix like Eddie’s some kind of movie vampire.

“Colin– hey.” Eddie smacks the crucifix out of the guy’s hand, sending it clattering across the floor. Red ooze drips over Colin’s shoulder as he flinches away, whimpering and crying. Eddie rolls his eyes. “Christ, you people are so easy to scare. Okay. Here’s how this is gonna go– you’re gonna quit your job, and I’m gonna make you vomit green pea soup, and then we both go our separate ways and never have to see each other again. Sound good?”

Eddie pauses, tilting his head and squinting at Colin as he starts whispering something. It’s so quiet and wobbly with tears that he can’t quite make it out, so he has to lean close to Colin’s trembling face.

“–thy kingdom come thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven, give us this day our daily bread–”

Eddie sighs. “That’s not gonna work.”

“–forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us–”

“Colin, I’m losing my patience.”

“–lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil–”

“COLIN!” Eddie’s head explodes into a storm of snarling beasts, screeching demons and eldritch beings whirling around each other in a tempest that could rival the Tasmanian Devil. A monstrous jaw with three rows of razor sharp teeth unhinges in front of Colin’s screaming face, roaring at him, showing him the glowing pit of hellfire deep in Eddie’s chest.

Colin continues shrieking even after Eddie’s face returns to normal. Eddie rocks back on his heels, inching away from the puddle of urine Colin just released onto the floor.

“I warned you,” Eddie murmurs. “Needed you to shut up. Now,” Eddie snatches Colin’s phone from the coffee table, pushing it at him. “Call your stupid fucking boss and quit your job so I can get back to my girl.”

Blubbering, Colin juggles the phone in his trembling hands. It takes three tries for him to unlock the damn thing.

After it’s done, Eddie takes the phone from Colin and tosses it over his shoulder. “You just got off so fucking easy– they teach you those fucking manners in Sunday school, too? Stealing tips, making her clean the goddamn bathrooms on her hands and knees. I’d love to kick your teeth in–”

“W-wait–” Colin sniffles, sitting up in his corner. “That’s your girl? The witch?”

Eddie leans back, his jaw clicking into place as he readjusts it– unhinging it like that always misaligns it. He scrutinizes Colin’s expression; the blubbering, frightened little cretin is gone, replaced by a wild eyed and angry zealot.

“Oh, my god. Oh my GOD, so it’s true?” Colin laughs hysterically. “You know they say she burned down her neighbors house because they saw her worshiping the Devil?”

Eddie blinks. “What fucking year is this? 1692?”

Colin doesn’t answer, just continues, “And she never got caught. They couldn’t prove it was her. But now, I bet…”

Colin trails off. There’s something dark and menacing in Eddie’s eyes that wasn’t there before– not even when he lost his temper. Lava pools whirling and stormy, boiling and angry like the buildup before an eruption.

Fear shoots directly into Colin’s mind so hard that he gives a startled jump. After years of skillful practice, Eddie has figured out how to play with people’s emotions in quite the literal sense. Sometimes, he does it harder than necessary.

“I– I mean–” Colin backtracks, “I’m not gonna say anything. I promise. I– I fucking swear on my life–”

“I don’t care about your life,” Eddie says, his voice as flat as he can make it. “I care about hers.”

“Please– please don’t kill me!”

“No, I’m not gonna kill you.” Eddie looks momentarily as though he’s considering launching himself forward and throttling the cowering man, but he sets aside his sudden temperament. “I promised her that I wouldn’t. Which… complicates things.”

Colin squirms. “It… it does?”

“Mm.” Eddie nods, his hands pressed together under his nose as though in prayer. “Because you’re obviously not gonna keep your trap shut, so I have to do it for you.”

Eddie stands as Colin retches. His body contorts on the floor, wailing and gurgling until a projectile stream of blood bursts forth and splatters across the living room hearth. In the midst of the puddle of blood, a writhing tongue curls and twitches, severed on one end like it was cut with a sharp blade.

Colin collapses in a pool of his own fluids. He’ll live. Unfortunately.

Eddie dusts his hands off on his pants and whistles. Out of the shadows, the smoky impression of a dog appears, its glowing red eyes piercing through the darkness and mirroring Eddie’s.

“Dante,” Eddie mutters to the shadow of the rottweiler, standing at attention and waiting for instructions. The dog gives a short whuff of acknowledgement. Eddie snaps his fingers, points at Colin’s disembodied tongue. “Dinner.”

Dante barks and falls upon the tongue enthusiastically. It’s been a while since Eddie’s hellhounds had any fresh meat, only being fed by the souls of the condemned in the Otherworld.

Eddie turns around in a circle, staring around at Colin’s less than stellar apartment setup. He can’t really judge, he was never much of a housekeeper either, but this guy is on a whole other level.

It takes a minute, but he finds what he was looking for beneath Colin’s mattress– hilariously predictable– in a tin pencil box. There’s about $300 in cash, singles and fives and a few twenties in the mix. A couple receipts from a Coinstar machine, as well.

Eddie snatches up the wad of money and shoves it into his back pocket.

You’ve managed to have one or two lucid dreams in your life. In the past they’ve been something mundane– walking through a city or having a talk with an elderly gentleman on a park bench.

This one is different. You open your eyes to something entirely unexpected.

Your dream is bright and colorful, despite it being perpetually twilight. As you gain lucidity, you pick up on different things– damp grass on your bare back, skin on skin, a gentle caress up a naked thigh. You turn your head, and you find Eddie there next to you, stirring as if rousing from a dream of his own.

You– or, your subconscious– has already taken the liberty of stripping him of his clothes, and you lay in the tall grass of a meadow. Your arms are around him, your leg hooked over his waist. He pets your thigh, soft and gentle like he’s doing it mindlessly.

Your hand wraps around his cock and he startles, his eyes flying open as he gasps.

“Oh. This is, um…” Eddie turns his head towards you, snickering as a warm flush spreads across his cheeks. Ringed hands– because of course, your mind would keep the rings in there– come up to cover his face.

You giggle. “Hello, handsome.”

He grumbles something, but he doesn’t manage to say anything of real importance before he moans. You squeeze his cock and roll your wrist, stroking him torturously slow. He throbs in your grip, needy and jumping when you skim your fingers over the vein that runs along his shaft.

“Well, you, um–” Eddie huffs and cracks a smile, dragging his hands down his face as he does to clear away the grogginess that comes from stepping into the astral plane. “You sure know how to make a demon feel special.”

“Not what you had in mind?” you ask, and your voice has a sultry dip to it that makes the demon squirm.

“Mm, I figured–” Eddie’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over and spit onto his cock. The sound that kicks up from it is salacious, a lewd squelch that completely contradicts your pastoral surroundings. You watch him, as his mouth hangs open in shock for a moment. His head drops back against the ground, baring the jumping muscles of his long neck for your consideration. “Fuck– figured you dream about unicorns and lollipops or some shit.”

You hum, looking pointedly down at where your hand strokes him between his legs. “Well, you’re half right. S’what you get for hijacking my dream, you little shit,” you mutter, but it doesn’t come out as caustically as you want it to, because you litter his chest with kisses.

“I just wanted to talk.” He tilts his head, giving you a pointed look. “You seem to have other plans.”

“Well, it’s my dream, and you caught me in a mood, so.” You shrug, rolling your thumb over the head of his cock. You’re gazing down at it like it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen, with heavy-lidded eyes and your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

Eddie groans and bucks his hips up into your fist. His hand comes up to grab your shoulder, a warm touch that sends a shudder through you. “Remind me to do that more often?”

You shake your head slowly. “Nuh-uh, this is a one time thing. You said you wanted to talk, so talk.”

You hadn’t realized just how much his presence would affect you, even just in your dreams. Everything about him screams for you to unhinge yourself, against your better judgment; his eyes, his scent, even his voice beckons you. Something not quite human or tangible pulls at your senses and clutches at your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s hunger or lust or something else entirely, some other primitive urge that you’re feeling in force.

Eddie sucks in a long breath through his teeth, his eyes falling to your hand as it works over him. His own tremble, holding back from touching you how he wants.

“There’s, um. You asked me to– uh–” You start trailing your tongue along his chest in a way that makes him lose his train of thought, your lips dragging over his skin, heavenly soft. “Uhhh– not kill that guy for you. So I didn’t.”

“Good.”

“I cut out his tongue, though.”

“Eddie.”

“Sorry.” He isn’t, really. You can feel it, and you can see it in the ghost of a smile on his face. “He was gonna say some shit about you worshipping the Devil. Called you a witch.”

“Everyone already does. And they’re right, aren’t they?” You sigh, and your breath whispers across his overheated skin. “I’m worshipping a devil right now.”

You’re bolder in your sleep. You guess because, to your subconscious mind, there isn’t as much to be afraid of in dreams. Especially in dreams that you can control. All your hang-ups are, well… hung up. And you can let yourself be as promiscuous as you want, at least until you wake up.

You bite at a spot on his neck that makes him lose his composure. Eddie chews his lip and groans, his eyes nearly rolling back into his skull. He grabs your hip and flips you, until your back hits the grass and his hips rest between your legs.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you gaze up at him. Eddie’s beautiful, so impossibly stunning that it nearly frightens you, almost as much as this aching want burning inside of you does. His dark hair hanging around his face, his flushed skin and glowing amber eyes. He’s the picture of immortal beauty and power, and he’s yours.

His lips are so close to yours, his mouth open so that his breath gets caught in your lungs. His nose bumping your own, almost like he means to kiss you.

Eddie rocks his hips, and you feel his erection grind against your cunt. Splitting the seam of your pussy, parting around him as he slides the length of it against you, getting it wet with your arousal. He isn’t… he isn’t fucking you, per se. But it would take just the slightest hitch of his hips, just a little press forward to change that.

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his back. “Eddie…”

“So you want to play games, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and bassy in his chest.

You roll your hips up into his. You can’t help it– the slick, soft glide of his cock through your folds, the head catching against your clit feels too good. His lips on your skin, his breath in your ear. It’s been way too fucking long for you, since someone touched you like this. Your head drops back on your shoulders, your back arching as you moan–

You wake up.

You fucking. Wake. Up.

You lay, disoriented, on your bed. Your hand rests on your sweaty forehead as your pussy throbs, hot and angry between your legs. Seething with rage and neglect, begging for the job to be finished.

It was so real. It felt so real, and so good, and you had to go and ruin it.

His scent remains. His smoke fills your lungs, eating up all your oxygen and making your head spin. You struggle to find your balance somehow, trying to quell the ache between your legs, trying to snap back to a reality where you weren’t just about to fuck your dream demon.

“Did you burn down someone’s house?”

You yelp, bolting to sit up in bed. His scent wasn’t just a leftover memory from your dream. You search through the darkness until your eyes find him sitting in the antique chair in the corner of your room, facing the bed, lit only by streaks of light filtering through the blinds from the streetlamp outside. He reclines, immobile, seemingly relaxed as his eyes glow warm and nearly gold in the low light.

You simply cannot handle this right now. Not while you’re coming down from a very near orgasm you just had because of him.

“What?”

“The guy, Colin–” Eddie continues, as if he’s completely unaware of the absolute torture you’re going through. “He said you burned down someone’s house. Your neighbor’s?”

You wonder for a moment if you could hate him for this, but you already know the answer. You could never hate him. Not really.

“C’mon, you can tell me,” he coos, and then winks. “Tell me and I’ll give you a present.”

You squint at him. He can’t possibly mean what you think he means. You get a mental image of him between your legs, his eyes glowing as he peers up at you, his mouth closed over your cunt.

He smirks like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. The fucker.

“Yeah,” you admit, drawing your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, uh. My fucking neighbor– she started a rumor that I was a Satanist in high school. Got everyone in on it. So, I threw a Molotov through her kitchen window.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Amazing de-escalation tactic.”

“It’s not like I genuinely tried to burn down the place,” you huff. “How was I supposed to know they’d just had the floor waxed?”

Eddie laughs, rocking forward in his seat. His eyes sparkle and his smile is sharp when he pulls a wad of money out of his pocket, holding it up between two fingers. “Your tip money. Your wish, my command.”

You’re taken aback, gazing at the paper that seems so bright in the darkness. “Well, that was relatively painless.”

“Was it?” It’s barely a whisper, but something you were meant to hear. Holding his jaw in his hand, fingers splayed across his cheek, he watches you with growing intensity. “Come and take it, then.”

The knowing smile on his lips issues a challenge, one that you would walk away from in any other circumstance. He knows very well what he’s doing. He can read your thoughts, that much is obvious. And since it seems they’re always in the gutter now, he knows how you’re squirming beneath your skin at the sight of him.

You wonder if you were really the one who ended the dream.

Refusing to breathe– you’re afraid that if you do, the sound of it would give you away– you crawl out of your bed and stand on shaky legs. One look at him tells you he’s gloating, watching the way that you struggle.

Ohhhh you hate him. You hate him, you hate him.

You cross the room toward him, moving slower than necessary in order to steel yourself to the shortening distance between you. You stop short of his legs, extended out and crossed at the ankles.

Eddie doesn’t move, his elevated hand still holding the wad of money. “C’mon then, tough girl.”

You stare at him, trying not to give yourself away, trying for all the world not to scream or throw yourself on him. You hesitantly step forward and snatch the money out of his hand before taking a long step back.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say mildly, trying to keep your voice steady. Even his name sends a rush of warmth through you. The word burns on your wrist. Your body shakes against your will.

Shit. Fuck. God damn it.

He chuckles, standing from the chair, looming over you. “Anything else I can help you with?”

You squint up at him, your voice shaking as much as your hands, now. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right. It was a one time thing, wasn’t it?”

The expression on his face is somewhere between affection and condescension as he suppresses a grin. His hand comes up and he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, urging you to look up into his eyes.

A note of fondness oozes into his tone. “Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You won’t win.”

Eddie’s touch sends a shock wave through your body, a shiver so strong that your eyes flutter shut. His voice is so soft, so lovingly gentle that it nearly makes you break down, knees weakening, head spinning.

He leans forward, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. “I’ll be here, whenever you change your mind.”

There’s an edge to his voice, a tone that hints at some sort of plea in there. You don’t know what it could be for– sex? Your trust?

You trust him to protect you. You approach him the same way you might approach a spirit in your house– unfamiliar, sure, but not immediately a threat as far as you know. Here, let me offer you half of my muffin as long as you don’t set my house on fire, okay? Maybe don’t kill that guy. Or maybe do. Depends on my mood.

You purse your lips, thankful that he doesn’t look at you when you say, “I know.”

You sound a lot more sure than you feel. You desperately want to grab him and kiss him, throw him on the bed and finish what you started in that dream.

Except, you’re afraid. A dream is one thing; sex in the waking world is another. You’re tiptoeing around some strange patron demon-human relationship that you don’t know how to navigate. It’s in the contract that you have to fuck him, eventually. But you and relationships don’t have a good history, and you’re a little frightened that if you make that leap on your own, it’s only going to end badly.

You think of Andy. You think of your abusive ex who still just hangs around, waiting to intimidate you. You think of the reason why you went out to make a deal with Eddie, and you think of the dog tag that you buried as an offering because Andy had taken the last thing you truly loved from you.

You know that Eddie isn’t just some normal guy you’re dealing with. Your attraction to him goes against everything that you understand, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Because you try. You try and try, and you’re a good girl until you’re pushed too far, and then you do something stupid like make a deal with a demon because you’re sick of having to just be strong on your own. And suddenly you want to fuck that demon’s brains out so bad that it’s keeping you up at night.

But… you don’t know him. Not really. And as bad as you want him, with your body screaming for him, it’s still enough to make you hesitate.

There’s a subtle movement of Eddie’s head, like maybe he can sense your indecision. Maybe he’ll end that torture for you. He’ll read the brimming anxiety in your thoughts and give you what you’re too afraid to ask for. Sex. Sex with Eddie. Sex with your demon… whatever he is.

Sex with his infernal majesty of freaks and misfits.

But he doesn’t. Without another word, Eddie turns, and he disappears into your bedroom mirror. Leaving you to flop down onto your bed, punch your pillow, and scream.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #tdik!fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #demon!eddie #demon!eddie munson #roses*

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dork-a-doodle · 9 months ago

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Animal Talent!Scar and his trusty steed, Jellie the cat!

Also I wanted to infodump about the ConVex in this AU:

Fairies become Vexes when directly exposed to large amounts of corrupted magic which changes them both physically and mentally, making them vicious and blood thirsty

The process is reversible, but requires restraining the Vex which can be quite the challenge. And even when cured, the Vex magic will leave permanent changes to the fairy’s body, like lingering blue pigmentation, slightly sharpened teeth and altered wing shape

Neither Cub nor Scar will tell anyone how exactly they managed to expose themselves to enough corrupted magic to get turned into Vexes

But based on the faces they make when asked, it probably happened because they were doing something very, very stupid.

#hermit hollow au #you know I HAD to add vex lore to this au #vexes are basically evil Minecraft fairies #it’d be a crime not to incorporate them somehow #also it’s So Fun drawing vex!scar #side note: you have NO IDEA how hard it was trying to translate cubs lab coat into something a fairy would wear #mcyt #hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft x tinkerbell #convex #goodtimeswithscar #animal talent!scar #cubfan135 #dust talent!cub #the dork doodles

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changelingsandothernonsense · 4 days ago

Note

I'm still learning about your OCs so I don't have much on headcanons. So instead, I hope it's okay I ask questions so I can learn more! c: Answer for Josh, Sydari, or Erra, or all! Whichever you prefer. Would love to hear you yap about them!!

Do they have any unusual traits/behavior/habits?

2. What is their most controversial belief or stance?

3. How would their closest companion describe them?

Hello! Thank you for the questions!

1. Do they have any unusual traits/behavior/habits? Sydari: Outside of having the power to shake the earth with her voice (when it's not worn out thanks to damage done to her vocal cords), Sydari tends to appear crushingly normal. This is all by design, of course. She's found over the years that drawing attention to one's self can have very negative consequences, particularly in her line of work.

She's worked hard on maintaining a visage of normalcy whilst pulling at the underworld of Riften in the shadows. As far as Skyrim is concerned, the Nightingale and the Thane of Honeyside/Dragonborn are two different people and she'd like to keep it that way. She's so unsuspect that it's suspect. Erra: Erra would not consider the way he looks to be unusual but he tends to stand out a lot when wandering around House Dunmer settlements. This is mostly to do with Erra having a very obvious Ashlander appearance, despite having technically left that life behind. Firstly, he has his coming of age scarification, a series of small, circular scars that frame his face as well as a pigment filled scar that cuts through his bottom lip when he completed the Trial of the Warrior. Ritual scarification in this manner is generally an Ashlander thing, with a few Redoran influenced sects of the Tribunal Temple practising their own versions with different ceremonies. Erra tends to follow a different grooming routine than settled Dunmer. This can mostly be seen in how he wears his hair, which he prefers to keep long, or the fact that he keeps body hair untouched. Cutting one's hair is a sign of mourning in his culture so he finds the idea of cutting it into one of the more popular styles to be a bit odd.

He has a very thick Ashlander accent and is very soft-spoken.

Josh: Josh looks like a Velothi from the Eastern Ashlands (because his father was) and has been treated as such his whole life. He is generally taller than your average settled Dunmer by a lot, and he tends to have a love hate relationship with his Ashlander side up until he meets Erra. He ended up with a lot of very particular scarring after trying to get his corprus cured. During the height of his fame as the Nerevarine he could generally be identified by the hand shaped scar on his left arm in particular. That and the ring that he can't take off.

Josh fidgets a lot, either by drumming his fingers on things or tapping his foot. He's an extremely restless guy and can't sit still for very long without something to occupy him. Oh and he has a huge knife collection. That and the even bigger web of lies he's constructed to hide his identity after the Second Battle of Red Mountain.

2. What is their most controversial belief or stance? Sydari: "Every interaction is a business exchange. This includes making deals with the gods." Erra: "Not every tradition must be followed to the letter. Our people cannot grow if we do not choose to be better". Josh: "Slavery is wrong and you should burn for allowing it." (Josh and Erra are products of late 3rd Era Morrowind, where vanilla takes were controversial.)

3. How would their closest companion describe them?

Sydari: From Joshi's POV: I wish I was as sure of myself when I went to face my destiny. The truth is, Miluth never needed my input or advice. She's doing far better taking on the whims of gods than I ever did. She makes me want to be better, more present, to not run away. I'm terrified that I'll fuck up again and lose her forever this time. Erra: Joshi's POV again: You ever seen someone skewer a cliff racer at a five yurt pace through the neck with a single arrow? Then you have no ability to understand how fucking brilliant he is! Like yeah, there are good archers out there, but not one has compared to what I've seen him do.

Then I get to have him all to myself because everyone else is a cunt and doesn't deserve his embrace. Josh: From Erra's POV: Teldryn is a very different mer if you take the time to get to know him. He puts on a tough exterior that is a little callous at times but that is not truly him. Not in my experience.

If you want to see the Teldryn I know, ask him about his letter chart. I do not understand any of it, I do not speak the language of the Old Elves but he does. He believes he can crack something from what he has found written in stone. I believe he used the term "Reconstruct". I am constantly distracted by the light in his eyes when he speaks on it. That and how he bounces when he makes progress on his project.

From Sydari's POV: Tel tends to be very closed off, aloof would be an apt description. It takes a lot of effort to crack him and actually get a straight answer from the guy. If I'm honest, I've almost given up on a few occasions. It's strange how compartmentalised he can be, even more so than myself. It's like he's wrapped in several advanced puzzle locks, and each one requires a riddle to solve.

If you don't find the master key, that is.

I still wish Tel had told me who he was before I found his dossier, but I guess a part of me understands why he keeps his identity a close guarded secret for so long. I really don't think he associates who he is now with the title of Nerevarine. There's a new side to him once you unlock the truth that is extremely vulnerable and scared. I wish I could see what he was like before the gods crushed his spirit. There's hints of an excitable, very intelligent mer behind the layers he wraps himself in. I want to help draw that out of him as best as I can.

#asks #danger!josh #sydari aralen #erra ilaba'andul

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alt-wannabe · 6 months ago

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MCSR D&D

after a long LONG time, i've finished up mime's character sheet!

Knowledge Domain Cleric 15

i was gonna wait to post this but i'm currently trapped in airport purgatory so i have time to write this all out

more below the cut!

Wisdom needed to be cranked bc cleric but I knew I wanted Intelligence to be high as well. After that it was just luck of the dice since I roll the ability scores. I didn't put tooooo much thought into how I scored the other abilities- just knew I didn't want charisma lowest bc I personally find Mime funny af.

So sorry for how huge that photo is- taking a screenshot of a non-multiclass spell list is HARD. Any spell that says "Always Prepared" came with the Knowledge Domain and honestly I think they're all spells I would've picked for Mime anyways. They emphasize organization, scouting, and acquiring intel aka Mime's spreadsheet nonsense. In terms of playability spells that a cleric needs, I picked Guidance, Resistance, Spare the Dying, Bless, Cure Wounds, Enhance Ability (also inspired by Captain Mime leading HBG through bedrock MCC), Mass Healing Word, Revivify, Spirit Guardians (fun fact my fav spell in the game), Mass Cure Wounds, and Heal. Speedrunning related spells include Detect Magic, Locate Object, Locate Creature, Divination, Find the Path, and Plane Shift. For other picks we've got Sending (just like sending chat messages in game), Banishment (generally just a good spell to have- sends something to another dimension), Flame Strike (I realized he didn't have many damage spells + his mini has fire in it), Create Undead (deadass minecraft zombies is the only connection here), and Word of Recall (fully acts like a stasis pearl/pearl hang- teleports you/allies to a previous location).

This is what he's got equipment wise. In MY mind that Hat of Disguise is a beret so that's what it's gonna be. Face paint is annoyingly not an item so I've got the Marvelous Pigments and the Disguise kit as a janky dupe for mime face paint. Wings of Flying = elytra there's not really much more I can say there. Crystal Ball and the Atlas are both spreadsheet-esque research based items which inspired their pick. The mace is partially because he needed a weapon other than the cleric's starter weapon and partially because that specific mace is closest to the super cool gothic one on his mini.

Here are some class features from the Knowledge Domain! The domain as a whole/the spells are more why I chose knowledge but the class features aren't unfitting for Mime either. Knowledge of the Ages specifically is a feature I like- Mime typically has his shit together on all fronts.

This is the first time the background I picked has taken any effect on the character sheet (and I just bought a new sourcebook so suddenly I have a lot more options lmao). This Researcher feature just screams Mime to me.

That's the finished character sheet! I'm not entirely sure who's gonna be next. The campaign is taking a TON of work and I've barely made any progress so that may take a lil more focus than character sheets. I will say I have druid K4 in the back of my mind so possibly that next? We'll see! Hope y'all liked this :)

#mcsr #mcsrd&d #hbg #talkingmime

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pocket-sized-nightmare · 7 months ago

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here’s my entry for day 3 of @gem-pearl-week 2024! today’s prompt is “flowers/decay”

It starts with a garden, as many things do.

Saint Pearl’s garden, to be exact. It’s the pride and joy of her floating island. She grows every flower and crop she can think of, then cooks it all into tasty treats or clothing dyes. Every color of the rainbow weaves through the garden’s neat rows, stretching from red poppies on one end to black wither roses on the other.

The wither roses are both a memory and a necessity. Black dye is an integral part of Pearl’s art studio, and without a squid population in her river, she needs wither roses to craft it. They’re easy enough to cultivate if you know how to harvest their seeds, and their pigment is deep enough to last for years. It doesn’t hurt that the sight of the rose blossoms is a reminder of her past and the memories she’s shared with her loved ones. As long as she avoids the thorns, the flowers are beautiful.

When Pearl needs black dye for a banner project, she returns to her garden to harvest a few wither roses. A dark layer of clouds follows her outside, followed by heavy humidity in the air. Pearl looks up and absentmindedly notes the upcoming thunderstorm, then kneels down beside the closest flower bed.

The soft scent of rose petals and smoke drifts into the air as she picks a few stems and drops them into a basket. Something about the clouds overhead leaves an odd feeling in Pearl’s chest. She shakes it off, takes a deep breath, and returns to her work. She only needs a few more flowers, anyway, and then she can go inside. She reaches out, brushes her fingers against another stem, and–

A thorn pricks her finger.

Wither poison instantly infects the cut, leaving Pearl’s right hand numb from fingertip to wrist. It’s a simple injury, easily cured with a bandage and some milk, but she can’t force herself to move her hand away from the rose. She stares in horror at the thorn in her finger as the wither poison spreads further down her arm. Her veins turn a strange shade of purple, and she can feel a numb emptiness reaching through her entire body. It’s a familiar, horrifying feeling.

She’s collapsed on the ground, trying so hard to put on a brave face. Sausage is next to her, muttering spell after spell and watching them all fail.

Pearl’s hand goes limp, and she drops the rose. She backs away from the garden in horror, barely aware of the tears pouring down her face.

She’s more afraid than she’s ever been in her life. Her whole body burns with poison and fire, but she barely feels it. Everything is swallowed up by a thick layer of grief – grief for places, for people, for memories she’ll never get back again. It’s all gone. Everything is gone.

Thunder roars overhead, and raindrops mingle with the tears in Pearl’s eyes. She stumbles backwards and falls. “It’s okay,” she mutters, desperate to believe it. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m alive. I’m not there anymore. It’s over. All of it is over. It’s over, it’s over, oh, void, it’s over…”

Pearl’s whole body feels numb. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest and hear her heartbeat in her ears. It’s too fast. Any second now, it’ll stop entirely. “It’s over,” Pearl whispers. “I’m alive. It’s over. I’m okay. It’s over, it’s over, make it stop, make it–”

Gem comes running outside, holding an umbrella over her head. “Pearl, what are you doing outside? It’s pouring rain!”

Pearl doesn’t look up at Gem. She stays on the ground, staring into space and muttering under her breath.

Gem notices the poison marks on Pearl’s arm. “Oh, no, did you get cut? Here, I have milk in my inventory. Drink this.”

“Get away from me,” Pearl murmurs.

Gem pulls back, startled. It’s as though Pearl doesn’t even see her. “Hey, Pearl, what’s happening? It’s okay. It’s just a wither rose.” Gem kneels down next to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. “I know it hurts, but it’s just–”

“No, stop!” Pearl shouts desperately. A burst of golden light explodes around her, burning Gem’s hands as it pushes her away. “Stop! You have to get out of here!”

As the light fades, Pearl is curled up in a ball on the ground, surrounded by a cage of golden thorns. She doesn’t even seem to see them around her. Gem stares in horror. Pearl has had mishaps with her godly powers in the past, but she’s never lost control like this before.

As Pearl sobs and struggles to catch her breath, Gem manages to make out a few words: “withering” and “said it wouldn’t happen again.” It doesn’t take long for her to put the pieces together. Oh, void, no wonder she’s so afraid.

Gem hasn’t so much as picked up a spellbook in decades, but after years of teaching wizardry to young children, counterspells are still second nature to her. She takes a deep breath, presses her hands against the cage, and whispers something inaudible.

The thorns recede slightly, but Gem can feel Pearl’s powers fighting back. Gem remembers an awful night from years ago, back in the Crystal Cliffs at the end of the world, when she had locked herself in her wizard tower and refused to let fWhip in, terrified he was another attacker coming to kidnap her again. It had taken him nearly three hours just to convince her to take down the barrier spell around the door. She can’t believe she never considered Pearl might be hiding trauma, too. “Pearl, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“No, you have to leave,” Pearl murmurs. “Let me go. Don’t stay. I’m not losing you too–”

Gem closes her eyes and whispers a new spell. It’s a simple magic-detection charm, and it surrounds the golden thorns with purple light. “Pearl, look at me. You have to look at me. You are outside in a thunderstorm in your garden, and you pricked your finger on a wither rose.”

Pearl looks around, seeing the thorns as though for the first time. “Gem, what– you can’t be–” She struggles to catch her breath through her sobs. “You can’t be here, you’re gonna get hurt…”

“I’m not hurt, Pearl. I’m okay. I’m right here in your garden, and so are you. You are not dying. I promise. It’s going to be alright.”

Pearl curls up against the thorns, shaking uncontrollably. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. Please make it stop. Gem, I can’t make it go away…”

“I know.” Gem has never been more grateful for her education training. “Follow me.” She closes her eyes and slowly moves her hand away from the thorns. The purple light surrounding them begins to fade.

Pearl takes a shuddery breath and does the same. The thorns recede a few pixels. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Gem slowly dispels a bit more of her magic. “It’s scary. I know.”

Pearl mirrors Gem. Bit by bit, the thorns let her go. Gem presses a bucket of milk into her hands, and despite the nausea building in her stomach, she forces herself to swallow a few sips of it. A cool, soothing feeling washes over her arm as it neutralizes the poison in her veins.

Gem holds out her arms for a hug. Pearl falls into them, sobbing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, void, I’m so sorry…”

Gem holds Pearl closer. “There’s nothing to apologize for. No one is angry. No one’s hurt, either. Not even a little bit. You went through something awful, and that doesn’t just go away. It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

All the energy floods out of Pearl’s body, and she curls up in Gem’s arms. Gem can see the exhaustion in her eyes. “Can we go inside?” Pearl whispers in a tone that makes it clear she’s only just processed the raging thunderstorm above them.

“Of course,” Gem says as she helps Pearl to her feet. They walk into Pearl’s cottage together in silence. After a moment, Gem asks, “How many times has this happened?”

“A few.” Pearl doesn’t look up. “I’ve been trying to deal with it, but today…”

“Hey.” Gem cups Pearl’s face in her hands and kisses her on the forehead. “You don’t have to deal with this alone. You, me, Sausage… none of us came out of Empires unscathed. We’re all still healing, and that includes you.”

“But I’m supposed to protect you,” Pearl says. “That’s why I’m here.”

Gem’s heart breaks as she gazes into her partner’s eyes. How long has she believed this? “Pearl, you’re here because we love you. I love you. Not because you have anything to do for me, not because of your powers, but because you’re you. That will never change.”

“I want to believe you,” Pearl whispers. “I really do.”

“I know.” Gem squeezes Pearl’s hand. “You will, someday. And I’ll be here for you the whole time. Now, let’s go change into dry clothes, alright?”

The rest of their day is put on hold in favor of a blanket fort, a movie night with Sausage and Bubbles, and homemade pizza for dinner. Pearl’s guilt over her flashback is slowly replaced with gratitude as she curls up in the blanket fort next to her loved ones – the very reason she’s still alive to begin with. “Thank you for everything,” she whispers as she drifts off to sleep.

Gem kisses Pearl’s forehead. “Always. You deserve it.”

Despite the horrors they’ve all seen, that evening, the floating island is free of nightmares.

#empiresshipping #gempearl #gempearlweek2024 #the p in ptsd stands for pearlescentmoon /j #anyway i love the idea of saint pearl and her loved ones after the events of empires s1 #they’ve been through so much. and they’re so full of love

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webweirdweedsmoker · 30 days ago

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“Trans IDs” are mocking other people and they’re harmful.

This shit is not the same as being transgender because gender is not biological like our skin color, inherited mental disorders, age, etc.

Claiming to be “transnative” is a huge fucking slap in the face to real Indigenous Americans like my grandfather and his family!

Do you even know their history? Do you know how fucking brutal the Trail of Tears was? You know these people are still fighting for their land to this fucking day??

No wonder nobody takes queer folk seriously when there’s people like you pulling this kind of shit wanting so desperately to be oppressed.

OHAY !!! Hm, first: I don't care about what you write because you don't even have the courage to show your username and the second is that you didn't create any argument without using swear words! Which means you have no real, rational argument :3

But I'll give you a little happiness and hey!! Refute you!

So I'll go in order :

1 — 'mock people and harmful' in my language, 'mock' means 'zombar' and mocking is an act of saying something jokingly — to make a joke — and transID are a serious thing, so no, they are not a joke (unless the jokeIDs, that relate to being a joke), and 'harmful' in my language it means 'prejudicial' and an harmful act is an act that causes damage, damage is when something is spoiled/broken/ruined. And no, not all transIDs are harmful, we have a specific umbrella term just for this kind, called Transharmful!

2 — In fact, it is possible to change the color of your skin. There are even problems that people develop/or born with naturally (although rare) that change the color of their skin, such as by increasing the production of skin pigment cells, or the lack thereof, such as albinism and vitiligo. In addition to processes that are even normalized, such as sunbathing to get a tan, which changes the color of your skin. Mental disorders can be diagnosed late and some even develop in some situations, so it is possible to go from not being diagnosed to having the diagnosis and feeling free to show symptoms without guilt. The age biological is not defined only by genetics, but also the level of functioning of the organs - so much so that there are studies in mice where they rejuvenate the brains of it and diseases of old age — such as blindness — are cured. Age also depends on culture and calendar, if we use moons instead of years, we will be much older than we are.

3 — In fact, my already dead grandmother is indigenous, so yes, I am Native American, as I am descended of indigenous people, although I don't know her tribe because of colonization and whitening process which happened in my country quite commonly until a few decades ago.

4 — Yes, I know that these people fight to get their land, it is not uncommon to hear news of protests from indigenous people to get their culture back, like the Tupinambá cloak that was returned after 300 years to its homeland ('my'[My in quotes, because my REAL country is Pindorama, Brazil is a name given by the colonists] country).

5 — In fact most queerphobics don't even know what TransID is, they don't care THAT much about knowing about the queer community at this point. And instead of joining the queerphobics, you should join the rest of the transID community, because you guys are always so 'accept us! We're people too! We have feelings and rights too!' but then 'don't accept them! They are bad! They make no sense!' So why don't we have the same freedom to express our identity with our labels? You know, you're practically breaking a human right, which is the right to freedom of expression, and your right ends when you affect MY right. Being queerphobic towards trans people minus transgenderism doesn't make you more trans, it doesn't make you a person with higher morals, in fact you're just watering down your own community to become but acceptable to queerphobics, you're just submitting ! [And when you submit, you are oppressed, or you join the oppressor, and oppress your fellow.]

I hope you learned !

#pro transid #transid safe #Not so dear Anon !

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steak-n-popotoes · 5 months ago

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FFxivWrite '24 - 5

"You really drew all these yourself, kupo?"

Beef nodded. The top of his head barely peeked above the sketchbook he held up for Kupopo's perusal.

"Well, your landscapes are pretty good, and the flowers are even better - they should make for some powerful pictomancy!" the moogle exclaimed, wings fluttering and pom bouncing. "We could go over elemental pigments... but the basics are boring, kupo. Why don't we see how you fare with some other subjects, instead?"

The two relocated to their local striking dummy in order to practice a few tricks of the pictomancer's trade.

"You know kupo, I only had the one job crystal to give away anyway, so if you think about it, it's actually a bit of a blessing that you were the only adventurer interested in being my student."

Beef's only response was to stare at the moogle in silence.

"I can see you're eager to learn, so let's get started, kupo. How about we try weapons?"

After a few minutes of watching Beef stare at his beginner's palette, Kupopo thought it best to offer some more guidance. "It doesn't have to be perfect, kupo, just come up with something you can pound a few poms with."

The suggestion seemed to help somehow, as Beef snapped his fingers and began to paint, stroke by stroke. Once it had taken shape, he raised the finished piece aloft - a feat that would never have been possible were it truly a weapon forged in iron.

"A hammer, kupo? Kind of silly at that size, don't you think?"

"Dwarven decking."

"I have no idea what that means, kupo." Kupopo shrugged. "But I guess it's true what they say: when you have a kupo nut, all of your tools start to look like hammers, kupo!"

Beef didn't think he had heard that one before.

"How about we switch tactics, kupo? You could really fill any role on the battlefield, if you think about it. A pictomancer is only limited by their imagination, after all! You could draft up a shield, or even cure pain with... paint, kupo!"

Beef's face scrunched up in response. "Messy."

"Look, that's up to you and how you imagine it, kupo."

For a while Beef tried to conceptualize a depiction of healing, but the line that distinguished between these two uses of magic lay somewhere outside of his grasp. To his untrained eye, it was all just magic.

"Well, you passed the job interview, so I'm sure you've got imagination to spare, kupo." said the moogle. "If you can't visualize how casting a healing spell would look, why don't you try sketching a healer that will do it for you?"

Beef looked to Kupopo, then his brush, and then back again. After another dose of erratic encouragement from his moogle mentor, he gave his best attempt at painting L'kozu.

The resulting evocation defied all description.

"THE HAMMER, KUPO! GET THE HAMMER!"

In a panic, Beef hurriedly sketched up another hammer and scrambled to grip its handle.

"STAMP IT OUT QUICK, KUPO!!"

In a whirlwind of color and magic, he rapidly and repeatedly pounded the dissatisfactory piece until it was rendered across the V&C garden as little more than a painterly pulp.

After a few moments for the two to catch their breath, Kupopo fluttered past Gale to speak a little too close into Beef's face. "I changed my mind, kupo. Maybe we should work through the basics after all... then we'll consider building toward a living muse."

#FFxivWrite2024 #FFxivWrite #Beef Broganoff

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simplydannie · 11 months ago

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The twins have been 6 months in prison. They begin to go through the waves and motions of it all… for a moment, they think they’re safe…. Until a familiar person pays them a visit…. Then they realize… They’ll never be safe…

She sported her orange RAGEOUS DETENTION CENTER uniform. Her hair tied up its usual ponytail, silver, diamond cuffs around her wrists.

She had just gotten out of “therapy”… so they called it. Hours of being shocked, needles being poked in you… all because of the so called Troll poison.

She pulled and pulled on her cuffs.

“Wait till I can get my hands on that Troll.” She said aloud.

“Vels?” She heard a familiar voice coming through the vent that connected to the other room. “Vels was that you?”

“Veneer?” She called back. What the heck was her brother doing in an isolation room too?

“Yeah it’s me! What the heck is going on?” He called out to her.

“I don’t know. They just brought me in here. I thought you were going to therapy?” She asked.

“I thought so too…. But they shoved me in here…..I- I’m scared Vels.” She heard her brother say… she didn’t respond. Velvet was never the affectionate one… that was always Veneer. The way she showed affection was but rough play and talk.

“Well suck it up! Anybody sees you afraid, they’ll kick your butt.” She replied. The grey metal door of the room opened up, a woman walked in….. one look at her… and Velvets heart dropped. What is she doing here, she thought to herself.

“Wait for me outside.” She said over her shoulder… there they were… the two giant Bergen body guards…. Gruff and Tuff… These two were the first two Bergens Velvet had ever met… they were big and they were mean. They shut the door behind her.

“…. What the hell do you want?” Velvet asked.

“Oh, feisty one for being in jail….. I am came to deliver a message and collect a few things…She’s not happy one bit. The Mistress. She’s especially peeved at your brother.” The woman said. Velvet didn’t answer, she just stared at her with dagger eyes… if looks could kill.

“Veneer went rogue there. So what? You guys knew he would buckle eventually.” Velvet crossed her arms. “What can she do now? We’re here. Our contract has ended.”

“Why do you think I’m here? I did say I’m also here to collect a few things.” The woman said.

“Wait…..Like bail us out? I think I’d rather do my time than spend another moment of hell with her. Besides, we admitted to everything, there’s no escaping it. We’re done.” Velvet crossed her legs and arms.

“Oh really? You’re telling me that fame… that glory…people loving you left and right…. Your’e done with that?” The woman saw she hit a nerve….A pink pigmentation started glowing around Velvets eyes….So it is true, there is such a thing as Troll poison…Velvet stayed silent, voices began to fill her mind…..Stop it, stop it, she thought.

“Remember how they all loved you? They all wanted you? They all ADMIRED you, they wanted to BE you.” The woman kept talking.

“…..They did…..They did…..” Her eyes glowed brighter, a madness came across her face. “They all loved me.”

“And they can love you again. The Mistress can forgive you, she’s willing to give you another chance.” The woman added. A viscous smile grew across Velvets face…..she had her…..until….

“Don’t listen to her Vels!” Veneers voice boomed from the vent…. He was listening to every word they had said. The woman saw how Velvet broke out the trance…So her brother was the key, he was the temporary cure…Velvet stayed silent a moment…

“No. I’m done I’m not going back. I’ll take my chances here.” Velvet stayed her ground.

“Very well then.” The Rageoun woman said.

TAP….TAP…

She slowly knocked on the door. One of the Bergens entered, standing guard by the door. Velvet was confused…. Where was the other one?…. That’s when she heard comotion through the vent….in the room beside her…

“Stop it!” She heard her brother say. “Let me go!…. STOP IT!” Veneer screamed. Velvets eyes widened in horror.

“Hey!….” Velvet said. She could hear him scream… he cried in some sort of pain. “Leave him alone!” She attempted to run towards the door, but the Bergen was in her way. She continued to hear beatings and cries of pain through the vent. “Veneer!”

“Your little brother owes us for the stupidity he pulled…. Besides, we need you to comply.” The woman had a wicked smile. Blow after blow, she heard her brother cry in pain.

“We’re done just leave him alone! Please! You don’t have any more use for us!” Velvet continued to try and break through the Bergen. The Bergen pushed her back with force. Velvet fell to ground….

“Just leave me alone…..please….” She could hear her brother cry…she could tell from his voice he was broken, hurt… any more hits and surely he would be beaten to death. Velvet eyes the woman. The woman had no intention to stop the Bergen from continuously beating Veneer. She just stared at Velvet with a grin on her face.

“He’s replaceable… The Mistress truly only sees potential in you…. So what’s it going to be?” She asked.

“OKAY! ….. Okay…. I’ll do it.” Velvet complied.

“Thought so….. THATS ENOUGH!” The woman called out…. There was complete silence now in the other room….truthfully, they had no intention in killing Veneer…. Not yet. He was there leverage to get Velvet to comply…. No. Not until she was fully under the Mistresses control….. then she would kill the boy. The woman and Bergen moved out of the way. Velvet ran from her room to the next…. She found her brother laying unconscious face down.

“Veneer.” She ran to him. Flipping him around she saw his face was badly beaten… he gasped for air. “….. Vennie?” A nickname she hadn’t called him in the longest time. The woman and her two Bergens appeared in the doorway again.

“A few broken ribs… He’ll heal. That’s what happens if either of you try to break away again…. There’s no running from this…. She owns you.” The woman smiled. “Now get him up….. we’ve kept her waiting long enough.” They left the twins to themselves. Velvet looked at her brother.

“I know it’s going to hurt… but you have to stand up.” She said. Veneer felt the pain shoot through his body. He nodded. Through clenched teeth and hidden cries of pain, Veneer stood up…. He couldn’t breathe, he could hardly walk… his broken ribs caused him so much pain. Velvet swooped one of his arms over her shoulder as she helped him walk……

They were trapped. Veneer had hoped telling the truth and admitting their fraud would have gotten them away from all this. But it wasn’t enough. They were back… they were alone again….

“I miss Floyd..” Veneer murmured.

“I know…. I know.” His sister replied… but they messed that up didn’t they? Floyd had been a father figure to them after the death of their parents…. But they betrayed him, kidnapped him… tortured him….Floyd would never come back to them, let alone forgive them….They both began to think that perhaps death…. It wouldn’t be so bad… compared to this…

#dreamworks trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #trolls veneer #velvet and veneer #velvet trolls #veneer #velvet #velvet and veneer trolls #fandom #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot

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bunnyinatree · 2 years ago

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I started reading "Akata Witch" by Nnedi Okorafor yesterday, and while I want to reserve my full judgment until after I've finished the book, I just got to a bit where the protagonist Sunny realizes that her new magical powers protect her from the sun, and I... have conflicting feelings about that.

On the one hand, good for Sunny. I genuinely like her as a character, and I don't want her to have to worry about things like being sunburned indoors or carrying an umbrella outside everywhere.

But also, it's like... I wish that she could have magical powers without it healing part of her disability, you know? And it feels like what's mostly left is the social ostracism element of albinism, rather than the physical symptoms.

Like, if we think of the social model of disability, where disabilities are created rather than innate, then Sunny still has to face the consequences of living in a society that isn't tailored to her needs. But the things that wouldn't go away even if society were kinder (namely, her photosensitivity) are just gone now, and that sort of disappoints me.

I'm just under halfway through the book, and it feels as though most of Sunny's albinistic traits (Is albinistic a word??) come from outside of her self. They're things that other people can see but that she doesn't experience or feel personally, like the color of her skin and hair. But the things that affect how she senses the world, from the inside out, don't seem to have as much of a spotlight in the narrative.

Then that makes me wonder (and this is a question that I'm having trouble finding the answer to online, since I keep getting redirected to the same five FAQ-esque websites), can you have oculocutaneous albinism that doesn't affect your eyes besides lightening color? Because Sunny is described as having hazel eyes, so maybe that means she has reduced pigmentation in her eyes but not enough to result in the more eye-focused symptoms of albinism, such as photophobia and low vision? Maybe that's why the book hasn't mentioned eye pain or light sensitivity, apart from her skin, and maybe that's why she's so good at sports and hasn't talked about having trouble with depth-perception or seeing in the dark.

I'm going to finish this book no matter what and see if I can get any more answers, but I'm not certain that I'll continue with the rest of the series, unless the second half of the first installment really wows me. It's nice to see a protagonist with albinism for once, and I really like how she's associated with sun imagery, because that's something I personally relate to, and I think that the "contradiction" of sun imagery and albinism is fun. Like, "The Sun is my best friend but also out to kill me." What a mood.

Still, I'm a little sad that I haven't found the specific type of representation that I was looking for in this book. I want to see things from the lens of someone else with ocular albinism, and while it's always nice to hear about experiences that differ from my own, I do want to find at least one story that I relate to in terms of vision problems, and I don't want that story to be about a vampire this time.

I still love vampires, though, don't get me wrong. I just want the validation of, "Human beings experience this thing, too. We're not just introducing a photosensitive character so someone can shine a flashlight in their eyes to ensure a quick escape."

TLDR: Sunny is definitely a character with albinism, but to me, it doesn't feel like she has ocular albinism, too, and I'm a little sad that the story seems to have "cured" the bulk of her disability with magic.

#bunny babbles #i will put this in the tags in case anyone's interested in starting a conversation #i'm not done with the book yet and i do fear aggressive interactions online so keep that in mind #but i really really reallllly want to talk to other folks with ocular albinism at some point #because right now i feel so stuck in my own head and i want to compare experiences so badly T_T #akata witch

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funeralfun · 1 year ago

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I've always had sanpaku eyes.

If you have sanpanku eyes you are known as a "Sanpanku" it means you have spiritual insight according to legend. If you can see the whites that surround the eye: the bottom-left-right, or even above then this is a positive omen for your life. Spiritually it means you have the ability to foresee future events. There is also a dark side to these eyes which I will go into shortly but let me first tell you about the yin and yang. The theory is that spiritually we all have opposing forces in our lives and it is thought that the sanpanku eyes can mean you are on one of two paths, these paths are known as Yin and Yang.

The Sanpaku can be associated with both Yin and Yang and those that have these eyes have two life paths:

Yin Sanpaku - The Yin indicates that the face is dangerous and the person will give into dark thoughts. However, there are ways to overcome this. Those that have a stare, that is prolonged indicate these eyes.

Yang Sanpaku - The Yang is positive --- this indicates those that have these eyes are connected to emotions in life and the behavior that we exhibit. In the Japanese tradition, the Yang Sanpaku spiritually means conflict and self-control.

The white on the bottom is called Sanpaku by the Japanese. Irises don't touch the bottom of your eyelid, and the whites of your eyes are visible below. Medically, these types of eyes are down to a genetic disorder known as "Sanpanku" in Japan and on occasion causes the iris of the eye to have a black streak running through it and three whites around the eyes. It is caused by a mutation in the gene that controls pigmentation, and its name means "black stripe" in Japanese. A cure for Sanpanku eyes is not known, and from my research, the condition is relatively rare. In spite of this, I have read that the condition is not harmful to vision or overall health.

There is a Japanese belief these types of eyes (Yin) have sociological problems and it is known as the psychopath stare -- I am not sure I agree. What is interesting is that in Japanese face reading Sanpaku means "three whites" if you stare in a mirror you will see that your eyes have two sides one to the left and right. Those that have Sanpaku can indicate white also either below or upright. Therefore the eyes look like they are "staring" so I am going to go into the spiritual meaning of these types of eyes.

What are Sanpanku eyes?

In Japanese, the word "Sanpanku" (さんぱんく) describes the eye found in snakes and lizards. If we translate "sanpaku" this can be interpreted as "three whites" and literally this is associated with how our eye divides up and the “space” of white around our eye. The Japanese believe the whites of our eyes indicate our spiritual path in life. The superstition that people with these eyes are dangerous was widespread in the 1960s, as many murders had occurred, and people believed that the murderers had extra white at either the bottom or top of their eyes. For now, I just wanted to let you know that face reading, or as I like to refer to it: in physiognomy, encompasses many different interpretations of what certain features on the face represent. Large pupils are a sign of intelligence or wisdom but also a sign of danger or aggression.

Is having Sanpanku eyes bad?

It was in 1965 that Japanese macrobiotic theorist George Ohsawa said, "The long and short of it is that a person with sanpaku eyes is not long for this world. He is doomed." In other words, someone with sanpaku eyes will die soon. According to Ohsawa, sanpaku eyes are associated with three main causes of death. First, the person will kill themselves. The second possibility is that someone else will kill them. Natural death is the third possibility. So is this really true? Also, I bet you are here because you are wondering about the personality of the sanpaku person that you know. In order to explore this further we need to turn to more information in his book. George Ohsawa views sanpanku eyes as a way to see the world in harmony with nature, seeking the truth, and helping others. There is a belief that this way of looking at the world can bring about peace and prosperity. So in my view, this is also a lucky sign. Famous people, princess Diana and Bille Eilish are supposed to have Sanpaku eyes, but on the other hand, there are pictures online where their eyes do not have permanent white underneath or on top.

What is interesting, is that sanpanku eyes are also a type of eye found in some animals, such as snakes and lizards. A large pupil occupies most of the eye in these creatures. Although they are able to see well in low light conditions, bright light can be difficult for them to see through. Snakes and lizards have slit-like pupils, while humans have round pupils. Therefore, if you see someone with very large pupils, they are not necessarily Sanpanku eyes!

Are these types “Sanpaku” eyes rare?

In Asia, Sanpaku eyes are quite common, despite their rarity in the Western world. From celebrities to everyday people, you can find Sanpaku eyes everywhere. One in three Japanese people has sanpaku eyes, for example.

Throughout history, Sanpaku eyes have been associated with a variety of things. In some cultures. I have already said before they are seen as a sign of good luck and are thought to bring people good fortune. Others consider them a sign of wisdom and intelligence. In addition, some people believe that sanpaku eyes are a sign of impending death.

Sanpaku eyes are certainly unique and interesting to look at, regardless of the variety of beliefs about them. If you have seen someone with sanpaku eyes then like me, you maybe confused. It's just something about them that makes you stare in fascination if you come across someone with these eyes.

Does Sanpaku Eyes Meaning Death?

Honestly, I don’t think this is a sign of death. Now, there is a strong belief among many people that sanpaku eyes are a sign that death and many websites claim this. If it was a sign of death then the people who have them would not survive, right? What might be interesting to share with you is that when we die the white film suddenly covers our eyes following death. Sanpaku eyes are said to be related to the exit of the soul from the body, and individuals with sanpaku eyes are more likely to pass before death. There is a real lack of scientific evidence, even though this is a popular theory is a popular one in many cultures. Now bear with me here -- as I know it might seem a bit crazy. It is important to look at science and how this can affect Chinese beliefs. According to Japanese tradition, people with sanpaku eyes are tough and have a focus in life. Having sanpaku eyes, however, is believed to bring good luck and long life in India.

Sanpanku eyes and the darkness of Charles Manson

It is known that Charles Manson had Sanpanku eyes, I'm not saying all people with these eyes have criminal tendencies but it is important to understand what we can learn from this. Charles Manson led a small but notorious cult known as the "Manson Family" in California. It is believed that this group committed a series of brutal murders, most notably that of actress Sharon Tate and several others in Tate's Los Angeles home. As result of the murders, which shocked and horrified the entire world according to the Japanese due to Sanpanku.

What do Sanpanku eyes mean spiritually?

A person with Sanpanku eyes may be destined to become a great spiritual leader, according to some. People with Sanpanku eyes are said to have a deep understanding of the spiritual world and are capable of communicating with spirits.

There is also a belief that people with Sanpanku eyes are compassionate and caring. Often considered natural healers, they are said to be able to help others who are suffering from physical or emotional distress.

Those with Sanpanku eyes must understand that this is not a power that should be used for selfish purposes. It is a gift that should be used to better the world and help others.

What is the personality of people with Sanpanku eyes?

I do feel that those with Sanpanku eyes have a great reputation for compassion and caring among people with Sanpanku eyes. They are often regarded as natural healers who can help others suffering from physical or emotional problems.

It is also thought that stress, tiredness, or health problems often lead to this trait. So what is the type of personality of those with Sanpaku eyes? Taking offense is easy for them, as they are temperamental. Also in my view, people with these eyes tend to make enemies easily. The Japanese consider that the person is not dangerous if they have three white sides to their eyes. Illness, depression, or exhaustion can cause it to be temporary. If this is the case, if you have these eyes it is thought that you need to get some rest and replenish your energy ---- in order to relax and re-energize. Nervous energy should be let go by this person.

Public figures with three-sided eyes include John F. Kennedy, Yitzhak Rabin, Abraham Lincoln, and Martin Luther King Jr. There is a tendency for famous people to have this trait.

In addition to being wise and insightful, people with Sanpanku eyes are also considered to be very intelligent. Advice and guidance are often sought from them. It is important to remember that if you believe that you have Sanpanku eyes, you should not use it for personal gain. To make the world a better place, it should be used to help others.

What does it mean to see white at the bottom of your eyes?

White at the bottom of your eye, or white in someone else's eye, is a sign of spiritual purity, enlightenment, or impending danger. Regardless of the meaning for you, it is important to follow any guidance you feel you are receiving. I’m not medically trained but in my research, I found that vitreous detachment could be the cause of this symptom. When the white suddenly appears at the bottom of your eye (and you are not born with it means then I would urge you to seek medical advice, this spiritual meaning I am focusing on the pure spiritual meaning.

What does it mean to have Sanpaku above the eye?

To see white at the top of the eye traditionally in Japanese superstition culture can indicate that there could be a danger in life. Think of it like this: above the eye indicates that there are dangers in life and if you have this can mean there is a problem with emotions. Above the eye is supposed to yield difficulties and problems and maybe criminal tendencies.

Sanpanku eyes theory and the Kennedy Assassination

For years, the Kennedy assassination has been hotly debated, with no clear consensus on what actually happened. According to the Warren Commission, it was a lone gunman. According to theories, Lee Harvey Oswald the lone gunman had Sanpanku eyes. Oswald was a former Marine who had defected to the Soviet Union and then returned to the United States. He was working as a security guard at the Texas School Book Depository on the day of the Kennedy assassination. Shortly after the shooting, Oswald was arrested, and he claimed to be a patsy. According to him, he was set up to take responsibility for the murder. Before he could stand trial, Oswald was shot and killed by Jack Ruby two days later. Oswald was the lone gunman in the Kennedy assassination, according to the Warren Commission, and the reason I mention this is that he was supposed to have Sanpanku eyes.

What is the conclusion of these types of eyes?

It is possible to draw a few conclusions from someone who has sanpaku eyes. Stress or insufficient sleep may be the cause of the person's fatigue. The person may be ill or have an imbalance in their health. As a last resort, it is also possible that the person is genetically predisposed to having sanpaku eyes. Whatever the cause, sanpaku eyes in my view can indicate good luck or something difficult impending in life. I personally feel that this is a positive omen in all the research I have completed.

#sanpaku eyes #sanpaku #Japanese #Japan #🇯🇵#Kennedy #Conspiracy #conspiracy theories

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rucow · 2 years ago

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ok here's my interpretation of the phantom, specifically female phantom bc im a lesbian and i crave more women characters in fiction who have actual depth and are a bit unhinged :'D

(please keep in mind that i haven't read the book yet and that my way of seeing her is based mostly on my own imagination and also me projecting very hard on her😭)

putting this under a read more bc its Long long

first, here is my art of fem!phantom ! and one more art of her

to begin, i headcanon the phantom to be named erica with a c, like the flower that grows in harsh conditions and that's very enduring and requires little water to thrive. i think it suits her! please look up "erica flower" and see for yourself :)

i think 35 is a good age for her, the same age as how long the broadway poto has been running for before closing :')

let's talk about her early life. she was born to a loving mother somewhere in eastern europe (modern day romania perhaps 👉👈), and her appearance was indeed unique but not disfigured. she was born with a birth mark of sorts that affected half of her face and her hair as well, causing strands of her black hair to lack pigment and appear as white (im thinking maybe vitiligo? idk exactly but the point is she looked Unique). she has grey eyes. besides that, as an infant she had a very quiet and calm personality as well, not really crying loudly like most babies do and often staring deeply at people, appearing "creepy" to them. (hint: she was just autistic)

erica's mother loved her. she thought these traits made her special and beautiful, not strange or unsettling. her mother would sing to little erica every day and night, but thats something erica doesn't remember, because her mother died far too soon (i like to keep the cause of death vague) and so little infant erica ended up in an orphanage.

now, the caretakers in the orphanage saw these unique traits of hers differently than her mother did. where erica's mother saw beauty and something special, these people saw Evil and Wrong. they thought they could pray away erica's "affliction" and "cure" her, both her appearance and her quiet reserved odd personality.

she was only about one year old when one of the orphanage caretakers tried a new way of "curing" erica via pouring acid on her little face. the acid dripped onto her neck as well. erica doesn't know this is what caused her scarring. as far as she knows, she has always looked the way she does. she thinks she was born this way, that she was doomed in some way, and sadly she will never know the truth: that this was Done to her

erica spent her first years of life in bandages and healing. even after she had healed, the orphanage caretakers kept her bandages on because they didn't like to See her. they didn't want to acknowledge what they'd done, so they kept her hidden and covered up and pretended her skin would be fine under the bandages.

(this is based on the 2004 film) the travelling fair. members would occasionally visit orphanages and other institutions while pretending to be interested in adopting, when in reality they were interested only in finding children they could exploit. when they saw little erica, who was still only a few years old, they knew they could make money off of her. the orphanage's caretakers were most relieved to be rid of her.

and then we all know what happened, and how a young madame giry took young erica and brought her to the opera and kept her safe and hidden. but erica was deeply traumatised and acted purely on instinct, she was completely nonverbal and nonresponsive. to this day, erica and madame giry still don't speak; their agreements are speechless and they both prefer it that way. erica is very uncomfortable acknowledging her past, so she secretly appreciates madame giry for not prying despite the fact that she witnessed little erica Murdering a whole grown man (again, she acted purely on instinct, she was protecting herself)

the opera was all she's ever known, and she has watched singers and managers and dancers come and go, while she remained. art and drama are all she's ever known. she's never felt the breeze in her hair or the sun on her face. she has access to the opera's roof, but she only goes there at nighttime when she can't be seen, and only on extremely rare occasions. art is her only escape and her only outlet. she doesn't just create music, she also paints, and she can sculpt if she has the materials for it. she creates any and all art

erica is incredibly smart as well, and has a vast knowledge on many topics despite lacking any form of education. she learned to read by watching the operas, because sometimes there would be signs and written words on the props. she paid close attention to any and all information she could get, and there were a lot of old things stored down there beneath the opera house that helped her learn and discover new things. but even so, her knowledge of the real world is incredibly limited. she has no idea what the sea sounds like, or what mountain air smells like

having so little to do, she focused her attention on the operas and on studying them, seeing what could be improved and thinking of how to make them come to life. she found most of the singers and dancers lacking, she felt no one really understood the passion required to make a performance feel alive. but that is probably because the performances were just a job to most of those people, while for erica it was her entire lifestyle. at the end of the day, the performers and managers and whatnot would go home to their families and see to their lives, while erica can never leave the opera house. she's fixated on every aspect of it, from the music to the choreography to the management... she constantly sees things that could be improved, and that leads me to my next point.

she started disguising as the phantom in order to help bring her vision to life, by communicating what she wants changed in the operas. of course, her social skills are lacking, so she puts on an act when interacting with anyone, and she doesn't let herself be seen. acting is the only way she knows how to approach another human, so adopting the role of a phantom wasn't hard for her. its easier to be the villain than to be herself. she is, in both literal and autistic terms, masking. she also sees how women are treated, and how they're not taken as seriously as men, so she dresses herself as a man and uses her naturally deeper and lower voice to seem as one. she's also very tall, which really helps on the rare occasion that she's spotted, though it's usually only her shadow that gets seen

now, christine. erica pretending to be christine's father/angel. again, she did this because its easier for her to play a role than to be herself. she knows that no one would accept her for her true self. she doesn't even really know herself, she's never had the chance to discover herself.. what she's like when she's laughing with friends, or how she acts when caring for a pet or child.. she doesn't know herself at all, all she knows is her work, her passion, her escape: music, art, acting. dreaming.

at first, erica did use christine as a way of making her dreams come to life. she can't perform herself, both because of her appearance and because her voice doesn't allow her to sing as a soprano. so she sees christine, alone and aimless, and begins refining her talent. erica never realises how intensely she feels for christine until raoul comes into play. she's possessive, not really in a romantic sense, but because christine is all she has. christine is the only person who willingly meets with her and listens to her, even though she doesn't know her true identity

seeing christine face to face and in the flesh is what really awoke feelings in erica though, and what made her want to have christine to herself, though she doesn't know how to go about it other than pretending to be something that christine can find trustworthy and desirable (again, the whole masquerading as an angel thing). but erica tries, she tries to drop the façade and be herself. she tries to ask christine to trust and accept her, but you can imagine how difficult and terrifying it must be to be that vulnerable with someone for the first time in your life.

when the unmasking happens, erica basically goes into full panic mode, and can't regain her composure. she doesn't know that christine's intention wasn't bad, but she's truly deeply traumatised and acted on instinct once again, which caused her to lash out at christine as a form of defense. she was really really scared in that moment, and once she became rational again she felt immensely guilty for lashing out at christine and for frightening her :')

she pretty much hates raoul. because he's what she can't be: a safe presence for christine, someone she can feel protected by, someone who can OFFER her a life of freedom and warmth. someone who can be seen in public with her, someone who wont ruin her reputation. erica has nothing to offer but her creations, her music, her hidden passions. she hates raoul because she can't be him. because she can't compete with him. she feels this way about most men, its just that raoul just so happens to be the man that christine is closest to

the murder of buquet. erica had always despised him, for obvious reasons. he reminded her of the men at the travelling fair, with the way he would describe her just for shock factor, and she didn't know how to process that. he was always watching the dancers too closely. his death was a perfect way of showing that she should be taken seriously and that her demands should be met. his death also meant the death of any memory of her past. also, he saw her. she couldn't let him live anyway

the masquerade! don juan triumphant was basically erica's vent art/music (she needs healthier coping mechanisms /lh). erica declaring herself christine's teacher in front of all to see...a cruel act which served to humiliate christine and force her into being associated with her. with the phantom. a complete parallel to christine and raoul's secret engagement........

erica's SINGING. it's just as unique as the rest of her, each word she sings is filled with emotion and passion and meaning. she sings low, and her voice can be soft and forcefully powerful in the same breath. she sounds unearthly, especially since she has no training herself yet she knows how to express herself through song. if only she knew how lovely she sounds,,,,,

performing the point of no return with christine on stage was the highlight of erica's life. she had abandoned all fear and showed herself in public, in front of all to see, JUST to be with christine and to show christine her heart. yes, she knocked piangi out (she didnt quite kill him, because shes Not a mindless murderer) to steal his role, and she doesn't regret it. singing with christine is erica's favourite activity and she wants the whole world to see how well they complement each other. madame giry nearly had a heart attack when she saw erica on stage

erica didn't see it as herself kidnapping christine. in her mind she Had to do this, because it was the only way to make christine understand her and force her to SEE how she feels for her..... and she never intended on killing raoul. would she take her frustrations out on him and brawl with him and choke him and whatnot? yes. would she kill him? no. she can't do that to christine. but it Did feel good to fight him. fighting for her life is all she's known after all

erica was so desperate to show christine her heart that she was willing to say and do anything, and her making christine choose between raoul and herself was her last desperate attempt. though inside she knew christine can't choose and that it isn't fair to force her to do it. when christine kissed her, and comforted her, and told her shes not alone, it was like the heaviest stone was lifted from erica's heart. she snapped out of her desperation and let christine go, because she truly wants to see her happy and safe, even if with someone else. erica had always known she doesn't stand a chance, she knew she can't win christine over, but she dreamt of it anyway. and if she spent less time trying to manipulate christine, she would've seen that christine was always willing to know her and to be with her

also, for any astrology nerds out there: i hc the phantom to be a pisces (with a scorpio moon and capricorn rising) :') basically i made her be an emotional wreck who gets Very obsessive about her passions. art flows through her

that is all :) im sane about her (not true)

#txt #this is very much nonsensical i kinda fell asleep midway through writing this IM SRY #female!phantom you are so dear to me #lesbian poto #poto #i could write more but im. trying to remain sane😭#anyway i know my interpreation of the phantom is pretty different from canon but yea i like my women pathetic and sad #interpretation*#oh my god this is over 2k words im INSANE

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ramahospital · 13 days ago

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Understanding Vitiligo: Causes, Symptoms, and Treatment

Vitiligo is a chronic skin condition characterized by the loss of pigmentation, leading to white patches on the skin. It occurs when melanocytes, the cells responsible for producing skin pigment (melanin), stop functioning or are destroyed. While vitiligo is not life-threatening, its visible nature can impact an individual’s self-esteem and emotional well-being.

If you are experiencing signs of vitiligo, consulting a nearby skin specialist doctor can provide you with an accurate diagnosis, treatment options, and support to manage the condition effectively.

What Causes Vitiligo?

The exact cause of vitiligo is not fully understood, but research points to several factors, including:

Autoimmune Reactions: The immune system mistakenly attacks melanocytes, leading to pigment loss.

Genetic Factors: A family history of vitiligo or related autoimmune conditions can increase susceptibility.

Environmental Triggers: Sunburn, stress, or exposure to harmful chemicals may act as triggers in predisposed individuals.

Symptoms of Vitiligo

Vitiligo typically presents as white or depigmented patches on the skin. These patches may initially appear small but can grow over time. Common areas affected include:

Face, hands, and feet.

Areas around the mouth, eyes, and genitals.

Scalp and hair, causing premature graying or whitening.

Vitiligo is categorized into two main types:

Segmental Vitiligo: Affects one side of the body or a localized area, often occurring at a younger age.

Non-Segmental Vitiligo: More common and symmetrical, affecting both sides of the body.

How is Vitiligo Diagnosed?

A dermatologist will typically diagnose vitiligo through:

A detailed medical history and physical examination.

Wood’s lamp examination to highlight depigmented areas.

Occasionally, skin biopsies or blood tests to rule out other conditions.

Consulting a nearby skin specialist doctor ensures that you receive a precise diagnosis and a customized treatment plan.

Treatment Options for Vitiligo

While there is no definitive cure for vitiligo, treatments aim to restore skin color or slow the progression of depigmentation. Options include:

Topical Treatments: Corticosteroids and immunomodulators can promote repigmentation.

Phototherapy: Controlled exposure to ultraviolet (UV) light stimulates melanocytes and improves pigmentation.

Surgical Procedures: Skin grafting or melanocyte transplantation may be effective for stable vitiligo.

Depigmentation Therapy: For extensive cases, depigmenting the remaining skin can create a uniform appearance.

Cosmetic Solutions: Makeup, self-tanners, or skin dyes can help camouflage white patches.

Emotional and Psychological Support

The emotional impact of vitiligo can be significant. Support groups, counselling, and open communication with loved ones can help individuals cope with the condition.

Why Visit a Nearby Skin Specialist Doctor?

Consulting a nearby skin specialist doctor ensures:

Accurate diagnosis using advanced diagnostic tools.

Access to tailored treatments, including the latest therapies.

Emotional support and guidance on managing the condition.

Early intervention can improve outcomes and provide long-term relief.

Conclusion

Vitiligo is a manageable condition with the right medical support and lifestyle adjustments. By understanding its causes, symptoms, and treatment options, individuals can take proactive steps toward improving their skin health and confidence. If you or a loved one is dealing with vitiligo, consult a nearby skin specialist doctor for expert care and guidance. With proper treatment and support, it’s possible to lead a fulfilling and confident life despite the challenges of vitiligo.

#vitiligo #dermatology #skin specialist doctor #rama hospital

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skinqurederma · 21 days ago

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Winter Skin Care Routine 2024 That You Must Follow For A Flawless Skin

Winters are charming and charismatic in their own right, but most of us know how bad it is for our skin. Many of our cold-weather problems, such as dry skin, chapped lips, hypersensitivity, and skin redness, also arise during the winter months. Our skin undoubtedly needs more care in the cold. We may avoid all of the wintertime skin issues by making a small change to our skin care regimen. The blog explores the essential skincare routine for healthy skin by the Dermatologist in Delhi.

Reading this blog is worthwhile! Use these Winter Skin Care Routine to avoid wintertime dry skin.

Best Winter Skin Care Routine

The best Winter Skin Care Routine for All Skin Types:

Hydrate Your Skin Twice

The winter months cause your skin to lose a significant quantity of moisture. Therefore, it's critical to select the appropriate moisturizer based on your skin type to provide it with the nutrients it deserves. Use oil, and water based moisturizer as per your skin types.

Making Use of a Gentle Exfoliator

After moisturizing, consider applying a moderate exfoliant to remove dead skin cells. Simply apply it all over your face to combat dull skin and blackheads.

Sunscreen Is Essential

Applying sunscreen lotion daily is essential to preventing pigmentation, even during the winter months. In addition, excessive sun exposure can cause collagen loss, wrinkles, and skin cancer. During the winter, sunscreen provides the hydration your skin needs.

Drink More Water

Are you looking for a Winter Skin Care Routine and way to avoid dry skin during the winter months? Sip on some water! During the winter, staying hydrated is essential. Even if you are not perspiring, you still need to consume eight glasses of water or more.

Maintain Lip Moisture

The majority of people frequently get chapped lips. For this reason, you should apply lip balms to maintain the moisture in your lips. For healthy skin, you must adhere to this crucial skin care regimen.

Apply a Vitamin C Serum

Remember to use a vitamin C serum. It is the best skin care regimen for people with dry skin. Among its many advantages are its ability to reduce inflammation, slow down the aging process, prevent pigmentation, and much more.

Skin Care Services Offered by Skin Specialist In Delhi

These are the list of services offered by Skin Specialist In Delhi:

Medical Treatments: For ailments such as fungal infections, eczema, or acne. Oral treatments, creams, or medications are prescribed by specialists.

Laser treatments: For pigmentation, scar reduction, or hair removal.

Chemical peels: To minimize uneven skin tone and enhance skin texture.

Anti-aging procedures: Reduce skin tone and improve skin texture.

Skin tightening: Non-surgical techniques to increase the suppleness of the skin.

IV drip therapy: Uses vitamins and antioxidants to improve skin health.

The newest technologies are used for these treatments by the Dermatologist in Delhi for effective winter treatments.

Conclusion

Winter damages your skin, so it's definitely not a good time of year for it. However, by adhering to this crucial winter skin care regimen for healthy skin, you can make the most of this season. The Skin Specialist In Delhi provides various winter treatments to see healthier, more radiant skin. However, without a nutritious, well-balanced diet, nothing is complete to follow Winter Skin Care Routine.

Sufficient nutrients are the greatest way to cure dry skin, and is the best Winter Skin Care Routine. Maintain proper hydration of your skin from the inside out. Avoid hot showers and moisturize your skin twice a day with a rich, creamy moisturizer. Protect your skin from cold weather at all times, and throughout the winter, hydrate your skin as much as possible.

#Winter Skin Care Routine #Winter Skin Care

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valentinahogdahlholm · 1 month ago

Text

Burning icon//Brinnande ikon

Outlines softened by movement, No longer lovely lips to worship as the truth's golden place of heritage. Burning red racks through blue shroud, blu skin, Holy image.

Holy landscape burns and from the ashes rise reality, Mary's blue robes to Lilth's red. And the final notes of psalms hang in the air, Limits softened, Everything is relative, And the only you god you have is the one that meets your eye in the golden halo you crowned me with. You call it a miracle, And I, I call it cold metal. Evolutionism meets your creationism. I call you a blind cynisict and ignorant idealist in the same breat. And the mind you called the golden truth's carrier is innocently "cute".

While you declare the words I rose from fiction, You who in the same prayer paints my image as an icon, Layer upon layer of Lapis Lazuli over ocher skin. Do you not see how they are worshipped, Your words and prayers golden truths, Missionary work for your own concience, When you see your self in the goldening metal of the halo. A young, blond god kisses my lips.

Prays for them, To fill my lungs with prayer, Disregarding, Burning blood, Warm skin, Beating heart.

Praying to golden images with words that have become mechanical, Taught, automatic movement you call life. Blind for blood from the thorned crown you call halo. To dring for your blesing. Sea foam on rising oceans in the grip of your tounge. The blank stare only a surface where you meet Narcisissus' greedy gaze, Ignoring the dephts behind it. Allowing your encounter.

My skin, your hands' goldening grip, Still in a silent scream, Whose blessed breaths you swallow, Without hearing the mechanic sounds. The red dye, breaking through skin that was oceanblue. Trace of the pigment in every movement, every word. Falling from the lips that declare prophecies. But with a fallen halo becomes the site of heritage for falseness. Nothing foreheadkisses can cure.

Despite your relentless tries. Realism's cold words fall on deaf ears in favour of romantic myths, Holy ink and pigment, Golden truths, filled with the creatures of minds, Beautiful myths,

Faces of angels, whose eyes you see yourself in, Made gold by your truth. Face like angels, eyes your mirror, golden under your touch. An innocent smile for relics in your hand. The selfless gift of saints.

Burned when redshot around blue irises. Try to restore with prayers spoken on lips, Worshipping the ignorance of innocence, Whose traces you swear you see in my face.

Save the angelportrait, fron the red hand of sin. Perception of the world collapses under the movement of blood against my cold skin. Burning red when words echoed on the outline of Stockholm. Back of steel, voice of stone, words of lead.

Desperate attempts to erase, Write it all over again. Holy book perserved to pray to Though the binding falls to peices under my back of steel, tone of stone, words of lead. My lungs emptied of prayers and mantras with a simple breath, Pages blown to the wind,

Precisely why I could never be, Your saint, Your angel, Your god, All too human for your fantasy, Orthodox faith in books of worship. Too substantial for holy immateriality, Icon to golden cattle,

Dammned to the lands of false gods, Through words so human they are blasphemous. For who will pray to something real? My name covered by the dark cloak of histroy, Hidden apocryphal about a fallen angel, fallen icon, false god.

Ripped from the sacred book you dedicated to me, My portrait's mirror. Truths golden tounge is cut, And becomes a prophecy to pray for the portrait you still worship. Wish to come alive in someone else, Who will breathe in, your lips holy words.

Konturerna mjuknar av rörelsen,

Inte längre vackra läppar att helga som sanningens gyllene hemviste.

Brinnande röda sprickor genom den blåa skruden, blåa huden, helgade porträttet,

Det heliga landskapet faller samman till verklighetens inferno,

Marias blåa skrud byts mot Liliths röda.

Och psalmernas sista toner ekar ut.

Gränserna flyter ut,

Allt är relativt,

Och den enda gud du har är det jag som du såg stirra tillbaka på dig i glorian du krönte mig meds förgyllda yta.

Du kallar det mirakel,

Och jag det kall metall,

Evolutionisten möter din kreationism.

Jag kallar dig förblindad cyniker och ignorant idealist i samma andetag.

Och du kallar det sinne du utropade till den gyllene sanningens bärare för oskuldsfullt gulligt.

Medan du deklarerar de ord ur vilka jag föddes ur för fiktiva,

Du som i samma bön målar min ikonbild,

Lager på lager av Lapis Lazuli över ockrahud.

Och du ser inte hur de dyrkas,

Dina ord och dina böner blir gyllene sanningar,

Missionärsarbete för ditt egna samvete,

När du speglar dig i glorians förgyllande metall.

En ung blond gud som kysser mina läppar,

Ber för dem,

För att fylla lungorna med dina välsignelser.

Känner inte av

Brinnande blod,

Varm hud,

Slående hjärta,

Tillber förgyllda bilder med ord som blivit mekaniska,

Inlärda, automatiska rörelser du kallar för liv.

Blind för blodet från törnekronan du kallar gloria,

Det du skulle supa för din välsignelse.

Havsskum i stigande havsytor i din tungas grepp.

Den blanka fasaden endast en yta där du möter Narcissus giriga blick,

Ignorerar det djupa mörker som döljer sig däri,

Tillåter ditt möte.

Min hud, dina händers förgyllande grepp,

Stelnad i ett tyst skri,

Vars välsignade andning du sväljer,

Utan att höra dess mekaniska klang.

Den röda färgen bryter genom den hud som varit azurblå.

Spåret av pigmentet i varje rörelse, varje ord,

Som faller från läpparna som var profetiornas förmedlare.

Men som med fallen gloria blir falskhetens fäste,

Inget pannkyssar kan kurera,

Trots dina obotliga försök.

Realismens kalla ord faller på döva öron till de romantiska myternas förmån,

Dyrkade bläck och pigment.

Förgyllda sägner fyllda med fantasins alster,

Mytologins sköna varelser,

Ansikten som änglar, vars ögon du speglar dig i, förgyllda av din beröring.

Ett oskuldsfullt leende mot de reliker du håller i dina händer,

Helgonets självfrånvända gåva,

Som du bränner när du ser röda blodkärl kring blåa irisar.

Porträttet du söker återställa med bönerna talade mot läpparna,

Som dyrkar oskuldens ignorans,

Vars spår du säger att du finner i mitt ansikte.

Rädda helgonbilden från syndens röda hand.

Världsbilden faller samman med blodets rörelse under min kylda hy,

Som kokade röd när de yttrade orden ekade över Stockholmsfasaderna,

Rygg av stål, stämma av sten, ord av bly.

Som du desperat försöker sudda,

Skriva över,

Skriva om.

Din heliga bok bevaras för att tillbes.

Trots att bindningen faller samman med min rygg av stål, ton av sten, ord av bly,

Mina lungor som töms på böner och mantran med en enkel utandning,

Sidorna sprids för vinden.

Precis varför jag aldrig kunde vara

Ditt helgon,

Din ängel,

Din gud,

Allt för mänsklig för att rymmas i din fantasis sägner,

Med sin ortodoxa tro på din dyrkade bok,

För verkligt konkret för att rymmas i dess heliga immaterialitet.

Ikon till gyllene kalv,

Fördömd till falska gudars land,

Genom ord så mänskliga att de blir blasfemi.

För vem vill dyrka något verkligt?

Mitt namn täcks av historians mörka mantel,

Glömd apokryf om en fallen ängel, avhelgad ikon, falsk gud.

Rivs ut ur den sakrala boken du dedikerade mig.

Mitt porträtts spegel.

Sanningens gyllene tunga klipps,

Och blir en profetia att be om till det porträtt du ännu dyrkar.

Önskar ska komma till liv i någon annan,

Som ska andas in dina läppars helgade, helgande böner.

Ty jag var allt för verklig för att leva i din heliga, helgade fantasi.

Blaze

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